“You’re so full of—” Veda’s focus shifts to something behind him.

  Hiram turns to find Antaris with five books and a hopeful gleam that turns into excitement when he sees Veda.

  Her reaction to his son isn’t what he expects.

  She smiles. The world must be ending. “Hi there.”

  To his further confusion, Antaris walks right past him like he’s invisible.

  “Oh my, you’ve picked out a lot of books,” Veda says warmly.

  Antaris glances back at Hiram, proud.

  “Is this your . . .”

  “Father?” Hiram smirks at her waning smile. “Why, yes, I am.”

  She doesn’t seem surprised.

  His smirk fades, eyes sliding from her to Antaris, who’s blinking like a baby owl. “How do you know my son?”

  “Are you that uninvolved as to not know who his tutor is?”

  “My mother handles that, but she referred to . . . you, I suppose, as Miss Thorne.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Ah yes, your mother knows my last name and everything about me. She’s a”—her eyes slide to Antaris, ready with a wide, fake smile—“delight.”

  “And during our previous encounters, you didn’t think to mention that you’re tutoring my son?”

  “Not my job to tell you what you should already know.”

  The look he gives her could melt steel. “You don’t know a thing about—”

  A passing librarian shushes them.

  Veda pastes on a smile and snatches the book from Hiram, rougher than necessary. When she looks at Antaris, her expression softens. “I’ll see you on Monday, okay?”

  Looking puzzled, Antaris nods slowly.

  They watch her go. Hiram’s brain is spinning with questions only Peter can answer, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened. But first, Antaris is back at his side, silently holding out the books, clearly seeking permission to check them out.

  Hiram’s pretty sure the limit is five books. “Whatever you want.”

  They get in line behind Veda, who uses her Imprint to check out her selections. She’s nearly out the door when she turns around, bag in hand, hand on hip. Hiram hasn’t checked out a book in years and fumbles through the process. The instructions are confusing. He’s slow, times out the machine twice, and the line behind them grows. Antaris starts shuffling anxiously. Veda sighs and slides in between him and the machine.

  “Not at all surprised you’ve never been to a public library.” She taps through the prompts and scans her finger. The receipt prints. She hands it to him, grumbling, “You better return them on time.”

  Words dry in his mouth when he realizes how close she is.

  Close enough to see the browns in her eyes settle on him. Close enough to see her swallow. A flyaway curl beckons, but Hiram isn’t crazy enough to tuck it behind her ear.

  The person behind them clears their throat.

  Antaris walks between them as they exit. Veda’s motorcycle is parked in the opposite direction of their car. Antaris peers up at Veda and waves bashfully, earning him another smile that dies when Veda notices Hiram once more.

  She walks away without a word. Hiram thinks that’s the end of it until Antaris hands him the books and bolts after her. Confused and intrigued, Hiram watches as his son catches up.

  At first, Veda is startled. Then she places her books on the seat of her bike and kneels before him.

  Hiram can’t stop staring.

  At her. At them.

  Antaris is usually hard to read, but not now. He hangs on her every word in a way Hiram has never seen with anyone else. How has Veda earned this kind of trust so quickly? And, in turn, he wonders the same about her. There’s warmth in her eyes where Hiram has only seen coldness. What does she know about his son that he doesn’t?

  When Veda lifts a finger while speaking, it looks like reassurance. About what? Hiram’s stomach churns. Antaris gently taps her finger twice. As his son walks back, Veda’s dark eyes catch him across the lot, silently warning him to stay away.

  Hiram responds with a small smile, quietly rejecting her unspoken demand.

  It’s too late.

  She holds the key to understanding his son.

  Nine

  Antaris isn’t in his usual place.

  After searching the school, growing frantic, Veda finds him kneeling on the balcony. He’s staring out at the cluster of swaying trees near the garden, face pressed between the two railings he grips tightly. She doesn’t know what he’s looking at, but it’s a lonely sight. Veda steps beside him, trying to see what’s captured his attention, but there’s nothing obvious. Antaris sits back on his heels, visibly distressed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He opens his mouth, and Veda’s heart stops. It doesn’t resume its regular rhythm until he closes his eyes, defeated, clutching the little cat pendant he wears.

  “You want to talk, but you can’t,” she concludes.

  His pitiful nod stirs the hopelessness she felt early on.

  “What’s holding you back?”

  He looks around before rushing to the exterior wall, touching it, then looking up. Veda doesn’t understand. When he returns, she simply offers her hand. “Show me what you’re looking at.”

  Trust is his hesitant fingers, squirming uncertainty, solidifying into a firm grip. Rain begins to fall as they walk toward the garden. He’s shaking, and Veda’s concern crests until he stops and stares at her, insistent. A soft mewling cry pierces the wind. She looks to her left and right before hearing it again.

  “Is that . . . ?”

  She follows the sound as it grows louder, closer, until they spot the source. A tiny, wet kitten is huddled at the base of a bush, crying in distress.

  “How did you hear this?”

  Before she can move or warn him to be careful—kids aren’t always safe around frightened animals—Antaris is on his knees in the wet grass, curling a finger in front of the kitten’s nose. It sniffs, allowing Antaris to gently wrap it in his school jacket. He focuses on the kitten, and the only sounds are raindrops and his soft shushing, as if soothing a fussy baby. Veda is transfixed by his compassion, watching the way the kitten settles, its distress waning. Antaris looks nervous, like he’s done something wrong.

  “You’re doing great,” she reassures him, and he relaxes. “The kitten is lost. Its mother might be nearby. We shouldn’t take it.”

  Antaris shakes his head vigorously, not to be reasoned with. The rain falls harder. A clap of lightning comes before the thunder rolls. Veda, unwilling to get drenched, starts looking for the kitten’s mother. She doesn’t get far—she finds the cat already dead. It hasn’t been long.

  What a cruel fate disguised as an act of nature.

  She covers the body with dirt and leaves, making a mental note to ask a farmhand to bury it properly, deep enough not to attract larger wildlife. When she returns, Antaris is still waiting, shirt soaked. She doesn’t have the heart to vocalize a truth he seems to know.

  “Let’s take the kitten inside.”

  Solemn and careful, he leads the way to the school. Inside, Veda examines the mewling kitten. It looks about a month old. Maybe male. Antaris helps bathe off the fleas and holds it while Veda scours the kitchen for a bottle and some goat’s milk. It’ll do for now. She guides Antaris as he bottle-feeds the kitten, now swaddled in a small towel. Without Dr. Simpson, there’s no veterinarian on-site. She’ll leave that to Peter.

  “Have you had a cat before?”

  Antaris shakes his head. His eyes hold a mix of fascination and concern. He comforts the kitten the only way he knows: holding it, keeping it warm, making sure it’s not alone. Not abandoned.

  A war brews within her. Part of her hopes that a boy this kind won’t be tainted by a family so terrible. Another part reminds her there’s no scale to measure a person, nothing to prove who they’ll become. Veda knows the sort of people the Ellises are.

  Losing a parent can destroy someone’s goodness, but Antaris’s remains intact, brightening the world in spite of the lingering darkness. The desire to ensure he thrives beyond her potential demise wrestles with Veda’s illogical desire to walk every step with him. Smothering every warring emotion doesn’t happen fast enough to escape the notice of the most observant child she’s ever met.

  “I’m fine.” He doesn’t seem to believe her, but there’s something familiar in his expression. Bitter amusement prickles in her chest. “I think I see the resemblance between you and your dad.”

  Antaris perks up. His interest is loud and clear.

  “You want to know about your dad?”

  He gravitates closer, eager. Veda isn’t sure what to say. Hiram Ellis is infuriating at best, mystifying at worst. She wants Hiram to be the problem, but perspective humanizes him in a way she doesn’t care for.

  Fortunately, this isn’t about Hiram. It’s about Antaris. Veda scrambles to remember every positive detail about an infuriating man she’s interacted with only three times.

  “He likes to read . . .” She trails off, chuckling when Antaris points to himself. “Yeah, like you. He also likes to swim.” This makes his mouth purse in thoughtful consternation. “He might like art, too, but I’ll be honest, I’ve only just met him. Your godfather, Peter, knows him best.” She slowly removes the bottle from the now-sleeping kitten, murmuring, “I think we’ll both have to figure him out.”

  Veda barges into Peter’s office after Simran leaves with Antaris, his brows rising at the bundle in her arms.

  “What’s that?”

  “You didn’t See this coming?” Veda sarcastically remarks.

  There is no hint of amusement on Peter’s face. “You know how Sight works and still make this terrible joke.”

  “Couldn’t help myself.” Veda transfers the sleeping kitten into Peter’s arms despite his protest. “Long story short, this is a kitten Antaris found. No idea how he heard meowing from the balcony, but . . .”

  Peter blinks like he’s stared at the sun too long. “Why are you giving it to me?”

  “Because our vet is missing in action, and yesterday, you asked me to drop off Lucinda’s produce order today after Antaris leaves. So, congratulations, you’re cat sitting.”

  “Khadijah is going to kill me if I bring home another stray.”

  Veda squints. “What do you mean another?”

  “I found eggs abandoned in the park a few weeks ago. I thought they were ducks, which I’ve been wanting to add to our flock, but they hatched a couple of days ago. Turns out they’re chickens. None of the chickens will take them, so they’re living in my spare bathroom for now. I didn’t realize how loud they’d be. Khadijah keeps calling them chicken nuggets. They’re named after sauces.”

  Veda bursts out laughing as Peter grabs a wicker basket and gently deposits the kitten inside, blanket and all.

  “How was your visit to the library?”

  “Oddly specific question.” Veda glares. “You’re not quite at Clinton’s level of cryptic yet.”

  “Cosmos, no. The date on the check-out slip was in a vision. This past weekend?”

  “Yeah. I ran into Hiram and Antaris at the library.” She taps her foot, hands on her hips. “He had no idea I was Antaris’s tutor. How is that possible?”

  Peter scratches behind the kitten’s ear until it purrs, placing the basket on his desk. “I assumed he knew. Apparently, I was mistaken.”

  “You were also mistaken thinking my opinion of him would change. Fine, he’s not a bigot, but that doesn’t mean I want to be his friend.”

  He gestures, giving her the floor. “You sound like you need to get it off your chest, so I’m listening.”

  Thrown slightly, she charges on. “I could talk about how arrogant he is, how he’s dripping in inherited wealth, how he has more audacity than I can stand in a single person. But honestly, my biggest gripe is his absence. He doesn’t bring Antaris to school or pick him up. The teachers haven’t seen him. Hell, I didn’t even meet him when I was hired. I know he’s your best friend, but letting Simran call the shots is a mistake. A massive one. Antaris doesn’t even like her. He’s always stiff and makes himself small around her. I wouldn’t let someone like that near my kid, relative or not.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “You’re making excuses for him.”

  “Yes, I am, but he’ll reconcile this soon enough.”

  “You’ve Seen that?”

  Peter half shrugs.

  “My second point of contention is that he looked at my file from the night I was attacked—illegally—then tried to have a gotcha moment about wrong information. Yeah, he apologized, but I’m still upset. He threw one of the worst nights of my life in my face, then had the gall to look shocked when I reacted.”

  “I will agree he was wrong for his approach—”

  “Antaris wants to know him,” she barrels on. “And after talking to him after the verbal abuse he took at the town hall, I do, too—if only to figure out why a Seer tattooed my amulet on his arm.”

  Peter leans back in his chair, calm as ever. “Why does it matter?”

  Veda opens her mouth twice and fails to answer.

  “Look,” Peter says, “I understand why you’re defensive and paranoid. I even understand why he aggravates the hell out of you. But have you even thought about his question?”

  Leave it to Peter to douse her fire. “No, I didn’t.”

  “I know your memory from that night is spotty at best before you ran, but don’t focus on the whole night. Try to remember pieces. When did you get home? What did you eat? What time of day was it? Were you alone, or was your roommate there?”

  Veda closes her eyes. She remembers the sounds, the smells, their voice. Being exhausted as she fought for her life. Running. Knowing she couldn’t stop or she’d die. The Sanguis Curse catching her, the cursed blood melting into her skin, liquefying, something wrong beneath her flesh. She tries to recall earlier memories, but they turn to sand, slipping through her fingers.

  She opens her eyes, defeated, and grabs the keys to the school’s truck.

  “Let me know what they say about the cat,” she mutters. “I’m dropping Lucinda’s order off like I promised, then going home. I’ll bring the truck back in the morning.”

  She doesn’t wait for a reply.

  Veda stews during the drive to East Proventia. She turns into one of the many subdivisions that have multiplied around the city. After passing a community pool and two stop signs, she parks in front of a pale-yellow house with green shutters and a matching front door.

  Beyond her Oracle Council role, she doesn’t know Lucinda well. The drop should be quick, but this assumption unravels the moment she reaches the door. Lucinda’s talisman is rusted, and the gemstone, normally shining, is now opaque.

  Something is wrong.

  Only a handful of spells can alter a talisman; the spell must match the strength of the magic used to create it. It’s a dangerous guessing game for Mages, even those with amulets. Upon further examination, Veda realizes it’s not damaged. It’s sleeping.

  Her interest is piqued.

  One rap on the door creaks it open slightly. It’s eerily quiet.

  Like a mausoleum. Veda shudders, stomach churning. The wrongness is why she dials the number Peter gave her for Lucinda. The phone rings from inside the house. Once, twice, then cuts off mid-ring. No voicemail. Veda knows better than to call enforcers to a Seer’s home. It never ends well. Instead, she calls Gabriel. He answers on the second ring.

  “I’m at Lucinda Hampton’s house at five-six-three Shelling Port Drive. Her talisman is opaque, the door’s slightly open, and the phone disconnected mid-ring. How close are you?”

  After a pause, he replies, “Ten minutes out.”

  Veda waits on the porch, growing anxious. Birds stop chirping. The breeze holds its breath. Time stills. It’s so quiet, she can hear her wristwatch ticking . . .

  And footsteps on the floorboards inside.

  The door creaks open a fraction more. Then more.

  Shattered glass and fractured wood float in suspended animation. Black scorch marks streak the walls. Gray ash coats the furniture. Blood soaks the carpet. Music plays from a destroyed record player, its needle still spinning on the vinyl.

  “Come in, Veda.”

  Dread coils around her throat. Eyes darting, searching for the source, she sees no one . . . until she does.

  The figure lives in her nightmares: a grotesque blur of shifting features, surrounded by red spider lilies that have sprouted from the carpet and lead to the open doorway. It’s them. Veda steps back, ready to run, but a black flash strikes Lucinda’s talisman. The door explodes, windows shattering with it. Blinding magic engulfs her, burning hot. The blast throws the impostor and Veda in opposite directions. Veda lands on her side in the grass, eyes burning, head pounding from bouncing off the ground. Glass and wood rain down.

  Pain blurs her vision. Blood fills her mouth.

  Another wave slams into her, tossing her through magic’s torrential current. Her scream is a silent shout in the chaotic haze of power, noise, and light. She shields her aching head until someone grabs her arms and drags her away. Her ears still ring, but Veda makes out the vague figure standing over her, their muffled voice asking if she’s okay.

  She coughs violently.

  Clearer now, they say, “You’re safe, you’re safe.” Then they swear and run away.

  She’s unsure how much time passes, but eventually Gabriel’s voice cuts through the smoke, frantically shouting her name. “Shit, are you okay?”

  “I—I think,” she stammers, though her body protests when he helps her sit. Francisco is with him, on the phone with dispatch, requesting medics and backup. The house—walls, roof, even the grass—has been scorched black by magic.

  Gabriel and Francisco stay until investigators swarm the yard and the paramedics arrive to usher Veda to an ambulance. She’s forced to swallow vile-tasting tonics, injected with potions that dull pain and emotion. The burns on her hands throb while they wrap them in healing gauze.